


Lies, Damned Lies, and Darcy

by sentientcitizen, sophia_sol



Category: Thor (2011)
Genre: Gen, Lies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:55:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sentientcitizen/pseuds/sentientcitizen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophia_sol/pseuds/sophia_sol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darcy, meet Loki. Whatever happens next, it sure as hell won’t be boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies, Damned Lies, and Darcy

**Author's Note:**

> The first short bit of this fic was posted here earlier by sophia_sol alone, as [Insert popular music reference here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/209020); it subsequently grew and changed under collaboration with sentientcitizen.

Darcy's sitting in class, bored out of her skull. Does she really want to be learning about public policy and administration? No. No she does not. Especially not at 8:30 in the morning -- way too early to pretend to care, especially without coffee. That would be why she's playing Angry Birds on her new iPod.

She's still angry with S.H.I.E.L.D. for stealing her old one, the bastards.

But really, she thinks, as she sends birds flying and studiously tunes out the prof's voice, why is she here anyways?

Okay, yes, obviously to get her degree. But her summer position as physics lab monkey for Jane was probably actually the most interesting thing that's happened to her since going to university. She hates all her classes and her profs are stupid and why's she wasting money on this?

She glances up briefly from Angry Birds to look at the prof and the powerpoint, both of which are earnestly telling her about bureaucratic decision-making processes, and rolls her eyes. Yeah, whatever. She's done here. Into her pocket goes her iPod, and then she's grabbing her backpack and walking out of class, right across the front of the room. The prof stares at her in a gormless sort of way as she leaves, and she lets the door slam behind her. It's kind of satisfying.

As she walks back to her terrible apartment, tossing her umbrella idly in her hands -- the forecast was wrong, again -- she begins to considers her options.

Then she stops considering, because there's a guy on the street in front of her, wearing a green cape and a hilarious helmet with horns, and looking distressed. He glances at Darcy, wild-eyed, and she sticks her umbrella under her arm and reaches into her bag for her taser.

But he doesn’t pause for more than a moment as his gaze sweeps past her. There’s a slight flicker of interest, that’s all, like he's noted her presence but deemed her unimportant. Whatever, she thinks, and keeps on walking, taser firmly in hand.

"Wait!" the man says suddenly. Apparently he's changed his mind about her.

Darcy sighs and turns back to face him. "What?" she says.

"I require assistance," he says.

She gives him a level look. "No argument here." Who talks like that, anyways? Why not just say, ‘I need some help’?

The man's face goes earnest under his awful helmet. "My apologies," he says. "My companions thought it would be amusing to dress me in this costume and abandon me here without my possessions. A joke, of sorts. I was too far gone with drink to protest. In truth, I thought it quite humorous myself, at the time."

"Uh huh," says Darcy, giving her umbrella an idle toss with her left hand. She doesn't believe a bit of what he just said. Although a hangover might explain his oddly stilted speech. "So what are you wanting from me, then? Directions? A lift home in my nonexistent car? All the money out of my wallet? Not happening, I'm warning you."

"No, I simply wish to know where I am."

"You can't read the street signs?" She jabs her umbrella towards the intersection just a few houses down.

The man gives her a look. It's a surprisingly successful one, given the things he's wearing. How anyone can avoid looking ridiculous in that get-up is beyond her, but somehow this guy is managing. He's got presence. Or something. If nothing else, he's pretty. Darcy's good at admiring pretty when the universe presents it to her, even when it's not her type.

"I can read the runes, yes," he says. "But signs are very little help unless I know in which city the streets are located."

Runes? Honestly? Darcy sighs. "What, really? That's kinda stupid of you."

"I am aware." The man sounds bitter.

Deciding to play along, she says, "You're in Albuquerque. That's in New Mexico, which is in the United States. Need me to keep going?"

"Please."

And the strange thing is, he looks almost _serious_ , although his tone is sarcastic. Darcy eyes him warily. He just stands there, innocence written all over him.

"You're on Earth," she tells him. "Happy now?"

"Quite," he says, still with that mix of sarcasm/seriousness. His cape ripples as he shifts in place.

"You're welcome," Darcy says, and walks away. She doesn't look back.

Only he's totally following her. So. To tase, or not to tase? On the one hand, he's _following her_. On the other hand, public area. Lessons learned on her summer internship: people react poorly to tasings, even when the recipient totally deserves it.

"My name is Luke Laufison," he says, as if she cares.

"Luke Laufison," she says, "Your helmet is stupid."

And then she blinks, because the helmet is gone. How did he...? And, hey, they said the skills she acquired in her internship would serve her well in her future life, so she stops and promptly formulates a hypothesis and attempts to prove it by informing him:

"Your cape is stupid too."

It's gone between one blink and the next. Third time's not a charm, though, because, "Your pants are stupid," she says, and he just gives her a _look_.

And that's about the end of his entertainment value. So, "Also, _you're_ stupid," she tells him cheerfully, and that made her sound a little less like a petulant five-year-old in her head but these things happen. She turns around and walks away again, heading for her usual coffee shop. Lots of people means a potential reduction of the need for taser-related lawsuits.

"Hey!" He's _still_ following her, jogging slightly to keep up. She might be short, but she can move when she wants to. "Please, do wait. It's just -- you're beautiful."

"Fuck off," she tells him, as the shop door _ding_ s open.

He mutters something about jötunn and æsir and the genetics of flirting, but he's smiling shyly, like she just paid him a compliment.

To her surprise, he steps neatly in front of her at the cash.

“I will be purchasing the lady’s preferred drink,” he says calmly, and the barista giggles like it’s the cutest thing she’s ever seen, and starts assembling Darcy’s usual latte. Darcy doesn’t even try to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Luke produces money from who-knows-where -- no pockets in that armour that she can see - and hands the drink to her. She takes it silently, slightly suspicious -- but she saw it prepared right in front of her, so it's not like he had time to drug it or anything. So she shrugs, and turns her back on him.

And he's _still following her_ , back to her table in the corner. _Her_ table. The one all the regulars know better than to sit at, because it's _hers_. He sits there across from her like he has any kind of a right to be there, still smiling that shy smile.

For the love of -- it's like having a puppy. An annoying puppy with, okay, really gorgeous eyes. But eyes attached to a body that's about five times too skinny for Darcy's taste, and if Luke bats his eyelashes at her one more time he'll be getting snuggly with 50,000 volts of electricity. Because there's only so much a girl can take, especially when he obviously only wants her for her resume.

Because she's not stupid, right? Guys in crazy fantasy armour wandering around New Mexico -- yeah, like he's not from the same loony bin as Thor, Viking!Xena, and The Nutjobs Three. She's totally being used.

On the other hand, he bought her a latte.

She watches, sipping her drink, as Luke stands and gets back in line. Okay, he has a nice ass. It’s still too skinny for her tastes, but it has a nice shape. He comes back with a scone, and sets it down in front of her, looking expectant.

"I don't like scones," she says, scornful. "Maybe try asking a girl, first." But it's oddly comforting that he didn't know that. It sort of helps to counteract the creepy stalker vibes his whole follow-you-everywhere routine is putting off. If he was a stalker he’d’ve known better then to try to feed her a scone. Unless he's trying to lull her into a false sense of security. And whoa, when did she become Ms. Paranoid? Oh, right. After the secret government agency stole her fucking iPod.

Luke shrugs, and pulls the plate back across the table. He eats it himself with every sign of enjoyment, and gets crumbs on his shirt, and -- when did it stop being crazy armour and start being a shirt? But it’s actually kind of endearing, in a weird way.

The point is, he bought her a latte. And she _likes_ lattes.

She finishes her latte, and he rises obligingly without being asked and buys her another, and somehow she's been ranting about Professor Dimwit for, like, an hour, and he actually genuinely seems to be enjoying listening to her and so now apparently they've got some kind of mutually use-and-abuse, puppy/owner, flirting-and-lattes-and-also-scones relationship?

Which maybe should be concerning. But.

Whatever.

"You," she says, pointing at Luke with the empty mug she's still holding. "It's your turn to talk now, bud. Somehow I don't think you actually care about my deadly boring courses."

"Well, that's not the reason I'm enjoying listening to you," he says, smiling at her. Slight increase in flirting subtlety, so well done Luke. And he’s talking almost like a normal person now, which is a nice change. Maybe the hangover’s wearing off?

Darcy lifts her eyebrows. "Good answer, but you're not getting out of this so easily. You want something from me. Don't try to deny it.

He leans forward, elbows on the table, and looks wordlessly sheepish.

"So. Explain."

"That internship you had this summer," he begins.

"I knew it!"

Luke looks genuinely shocked. "What? You did?"

"You're one of those crazy lightning story-book people!" She glares at him across the table, then adds, "The stupid armour gave it away."

The look of shock passes, and is replaced with confusion. "Armour?"

"The armour. That you... made disappear...." Her scowl deepens. "I saw it, you know."

"Right," Luke says, in the faintly conciliatory tones of someone humouring the crazy person. "The thing is, when I'm not... being lightning in a story-book?"

"Lightning-person. God. Thing. _From_ a story-book." She hesitates. Okay, so, she's not exactly a person prone to self-doubt, but when she says it aloud like that... unbelievable. Slightly less than sane, to be honest.

So it's a good thing she's not a person prone to self-doubt.

"Right," he says again. "When I'm not doing that, I study science at UNM. Less lightning, more wormholes."

"The two," she says in the weary tones of experience, "are not mutually exclusive. Ugh, look -- if we're gonna have this conversation, I need another latte."

He takes her mug and goes to get it filled again, without the tiniest hint of a snide comment about having blood in her caffeine system, or whatever it is that passes for so-called self-righteous 'wit' these days. It's probably his best trait, this willingness to fetch her caffeine on demand. It's almost worth keeping him around just for that. Maybe she won't even have to tase him.

"Okay," she says when he returns, before he can quite open his mouth. "Either I'm crazy or you're a liar, so I'm just going to assume from here that everything you say is a lie. Explain to me why you give a crap about the internship that hell forgot."

Luke goes even more puppy-dog at her accusation but she just looks at him over her glasses and her latte. "Explain. I can even add a 'please' if you ask really nicely."

"I just -- well, I _wanted_ that internship."

He seems about to say something more, but he's cut off by Darcy's burst of laughter. _Really_? That's going to be his story? And here she'd been giving him at least a little credit for his skills in the lies department.

Luke just looks tragic. "I know, I know," he says. " 'The internship hell forgot.' Maybe to you. But to me... Dr. Foster, well, the woman’s a genius! And her theories...! It was -- I made a terrible mistake. I wrote the application deadline down wrong, and then... Believe me, I felt like a fool. The opportunity of a lifetime! To work on a topic I _love_ , with someone of her caliber!" He slumps down in his chair, and presses his face into his hands. "I still can't believe I did that to myself."

Partway into that little speech, Darcy goes still. It's not that she believes him, because she totally doesn't. It's just that, well, it's a sentiment she understands. She hadn't intended to do an internship as far out of her field as possible -- it was just that she hadn't been accepted for the ones she _had_ wanted, and she'd been left going "screw it" and applying to every internship that was still open. Credits were credits, even if they were totally useless to her.

But she's still fucking angry about not getting that internship on digital censorship, and it's that that leads her to sigh, and say, "Yeah."

She takes a sip of her latte -- and she's starting to get a bit of a buzz, 'cause this is more overpriced caffeine than she can usually _afford_ to drink in one go - before adding, "Idiot. You _wrote it on the wrong month_? For serious?" If that’s even a little true, then -- poor stupid kid. Totally deserved to miss his chance, pulling a dumb stunt like that, but still. Poor stupid kid.

He looks miserable. Like a puppy, still, but one that just got smacked with a newspaper. "I know."

"I think that's about the most bone-headed thing I've ever heard. You total numbnut."

"I _know_." His head hangs even lower. "Believe me, you can’t address me by any foul name I haven't already called myself a dozen times."

"Fat-kidneyed coxcomb."

Luke looks up, and blinks. "What?"

She grins. The only good thing she got out of that Shakespeare elective was the cursing. And why did that jump into her head just then? Oh, right. ’Address me by any foul name’. A bit of a relapse, there, speech-wise -- so maybe it wasn’t a hangover thing after all?

"Just proving a point,” was all she said. “Sorry, go on. I think you were telling me what a total dumb-ass you are? But mostly I'm just curious how you think _I_ can help. If you're here to beg me to give you the internship, I've got some bad news: you wrote the date down wrong again. Internship's over."

"No, no." He shakes his head. "I know that. But I've one more summer term before I graduate, and I already have my internship credit, but I thought maybe -- well, I thought perhaps she might offer a similar position this year, as well."

"Sure, maybe," says Darcy, idly tracing the rim of her mug. "And you're here talking to me because...?"

He shrugs, an expression of helpless frustration on his face. "No one has seen Dr. Foster since last summer."

Oh. Right. Working for a shadowy government spook squad. That would probably make a person tough to track down. "Remember the 'internship hell forgot' part?" she shoots back. "I'm probably the last person the Doc wants to talk with. I haven't seen her since she handed me my term-end review and wished me an insincere best of luck in all my future endeavours."

Which was true. Really. Strictly speaking.

But apparently Luke's more clever than he acts, and says, "Haven't _seen_ her, you say. But you've been in contact?"

"No, of course not," says Darcy scathingly, and this one _is_ a lie. Hey, if he's going to lie, she has no problem responding in kind.

Luke sighs. "Having called me a liar, the least you could do is not make yourself a hypocrite."

Oh, he's good. She practically never gets caught out. "You got me," she says. “Sorry.” She grins at him, insincere and enjoying herself, and tosses back the last of her latte.

"So?" he prods. "Can't you _please_ help me out? Even just a clue! I'd go on my knees and beg, if it would make a difference." He pauses. "Would it?"

Darcy's grin turns genuine. She rather likes the visual he's giving her -- this tricky and charming and desperate man, down on the floor in front of her. "Maybe," she says. "Care to find out?"

And he gives her such a look that suddenly she knows he'd do it, he honestly would. Luke’s a man who knows what he wants, and a thought creeps up on her: she’s pretty sure she knows how far he’ll go to get it, and that scares her just a bit. She can name her price, and if she's sincere, he'll pay.

Although -- upon reflection, she suspects she'd do well to ask for payment up front. She wasn't born yesterday. If Luke plans to stick around for even half a heartbeat after he gets what he wants, then she, Darcy, is the Queen of all Londinium.

All at once, the image of Luke on his knees is a little less titillating than it had been when she'd assumed he wouldn't actually do it. She can feel her cheeks heat, and she hopes to hell she isn't blushing. She thought she lost her blush - along with the last vestiges of societally-induced shame - back in highschool. A good old fashioned PDA is all for the good, with the added benefit of pissing off the inevitable disapproving senior citizen, but her comfort zone doesn’t stretch quite far enough to encompass power games in the middle of a crowded coffee shop. An exhibition kink she does _not_ have, thanks very.

"Changed my mind," she says hastily. "You keep your butt in that seat, understand?"

He smiles, and it's that same shy smile as before only now she can see the way his eyes gleam. Point to Luke, and the bastard knows it.

Darcy narrows her eyes, thinking. On the one hand, if she obliges him, Luke becomes Jane's problem. It's not like the Doc ever did anything for Darcy, except grudgingly hire her on and then boss her around like a pint-sized tyrant all summer. On the other hand, it's not like Luke ever did anything for her except buy her a couple of lattes.

Admittedly, back on that first hand, Jane's sort of endearingly crazy. In an oh-my-god, this-very-boring-thing-is-a-miracle-of-the-universe, can't-sleep-too-busy-being-nuts kind of way. But Luke, he's sort of endearingly a _bastard_ , in charmingly dishonest, puppy-like way. She's still not sure just how much of that story was a total crock, but she's reasonably sure that the answer is "most of it".

"I don't know where she is," Darcy says slowly, then holds up her hand to cut off Luke's protest. "Seriously, shut up. I'm not done yet. I don't know where she is, but I might know where she will be. She e-mails me, sometimes, trying to pick my brain for data that we lost when, uh. Data that we lost. Like I'd remember any of that crap."

Actually she remembers a decent amount of it -- she's a proud apathist, not an _idiot_ \-- but that's between her and Jane, and not even remotely Luke's business. Let him stay focused on the Doc; Jane has S.H.I.E.L.D. backing her up. Darcy only has Darcy.

"In her last e-mail," Darcy continues, "Jane mentioned she has some leave coming up, and she said --" Darcy cuts herself off at the last second. "I figured out where she's going, anyhow."

"Where?" Luke leans forward, and he's projecting happy-puppy-undergrad so hard it's practically bouncing off the back wall.

"Nu-uh." Darcy shakes her head. "You want information? You have to pay for it."

He hesitates, and it’s perfect - the very picture of a penniless student trying to figure out if he can afford her price and still keep himself in ramen noodles. Which is sort of hilarious, because she knows right down to the soles of her Birkenstocks that what she asks for doesn’t matter. The answer will still be yes.

"Pay what?" he asks, cautiously.

She notes with satisfaction that he says 'what', not 'how much', and quietly files it away along with ‘too implausibly perfect’ in her growing mental file of evidence for 'I'm not crazy, Luke's the biggest lying liar in the whole damn world.'

And what does she want, anyways? Not money. She's pretty sure Luke's in a position to give her something more interesting than cash. And what Darcy needs right now, more than anything else, is something _interesting_. She's been bored witless ever since she got home from the internship hell forgot.

...what the heck. It's not like her profs are teaching her anything the textbooks aren't.

"My price," says Darcy with a grin, "is that I'm coming with you."

Jane versus Luke, with S.H.I.E.L.D. looking on? One thing's for damn sure: it's not gonna be boring.


End file.
